Lew wiped the sweat from his brow; uselessly, as more took its place right away. Three days with not a drop of rain; only blistering, overbearing heat. He cursed his thick, baggy clothing--it was damned hot, but too useful a camouflage in the jungle. Still, he missed his uniform. Like so many things these past few months, the captain was forced into strange choices by hard circumstance.

First into seeking captaincy of princess Luna’s Royal Guard contingent to avoid the war path his Queen seemed determined to follow. Then their late night retreat, barely escaping the Queen’s so-called justice, which found them crammed into an aging warship, scrambling to learn the sailor’s profession in hours before they capsized or lost themselves to the endless seas. Now here in the Rim, fighting and avoiding pirates. Suffering this thrice-damned weather.

He spotted a large rock, looking all too inviting in a shaded copse. Taking a seat, he set his rifle down and started rustling in his bag, pulling out his canteen. He drank sparingly, though he wanted to down the whole thing. Pulling off the long, ragged cloth that served as both hat and scarf, he poured just a little of his precious water along it. Back to his bag went the canteen as he rose, sliding the mostly green wrap back over his sweat-soaked blue hair.

It had been a handy find, that. Apparently it had once been a long strip of banner cloth, hung along the ship’s sides during celebratory tours. Elondrie knew when it had seen the sun last. They hadn’t found much in the cargo hold of the Runabout, but that and a few other old bits of cloth--old sailcloth, other ratty banners, and used uniforms--he’d worked into a simple but effective camouflage outfit. Lew had been rather pleased with his work. His princess had laughed for the better part of an hour.

Coming back to the matter at hand, he checked his mental map. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was probably about three miles from their camp. With such clear weather, Lew had insisted he be allowed to properly scout. Find the pirates and measure their actual capabilities. Luna hadn’t liked it, but she was becoming just as antsy turtling as he was. They needed to start working out a way to leave, soon.

But that meant finding a way around or through at least a dozen different pirate crews, some with multiple ships. It wasn’t a very good prospect, but Lew was determined. It was his duty, and he was determined to never fail again.

That pushed him stronger, still. He still hadn’t given up that he had failed in his other, just as important duty. Not yet.

Pushing against the small lump at his chest, he closed his eyes and remembered a strong laugh--at him, most times--paired with deep purple eyes; the scent of lilac and winter rose he caught face deep in soft multi-hued hair; the warmth and love of naked nights, limbs intertwined as the words whispered between their hearts.

“I love you, Cadence,” he whispered softly, his chest aching. Somehow, he knew her safe. But for how long? Every day that passed made it harder to sleep, harder to focus. And that was dangerous.

A crack of splintering wood followed by a dim thump told him just how dangerous it was. Hefting his rifle, he sprinted through the brush he’d cleared early that morning. Though he fully intended to scout out the pirates, his primary reason for being so far from camp was to try and lure out their mysterious, blue-eyed assassin. He hadn’t told Luna that, of course. She’d never have allowed it.

But those eyes had almost haunted him, replacing his usual dreams of Cadance. They taunted him, promised him, called him. Something in them was going to change his soldiers’ situation, if only he could make them tell. So he had set about it, as he set about anything that needed to be done.

Before the sun had risen, he had made his way to a particularly overgrown tract of jungle. He’d gone about setting various traps in a circuitous route--one that would seem like he was just lost, rather than intentionally walking a circle for hours. Assassins often prided themselves on being the predators stalking their prey; Lew smirked as he ran, a confident alpha having turned the game on its head.

He stopped a dozen steps away from his pit trap. Looking up, he saw the broken branch he’d cut through halfway. Snapped, it pointed almost accusingly into the pit below. Raising his rifle, he crouched and approached one small step at a time.

Just as he was close enough to see the bottom if he stood tall, he grabbed a nearby stone and threw it to the opposite side of the hole. It made a small crash. Hoping his target had been distracted by the noise, he rose, aiming down, eyes ready to find a weapon to shoot away.

The pit was empty.

“Damn!” he said, crouching again and looking to the forest surrounding him. How? How?! He was baffled--no one could get out of that pit, at least not in the time he had allowed. Suddenly he felt vulnerable. He’d chosen this spot for it’s relative lack of undergrowth, which suited well for his trap. But it suited just as well for his trap to be turned against him.

A loud, hearty laugh echoed from the trees, and he heard the racket of someone running through the brush. Knowing it was foolish, he took off, fast as he dared. Though it still slowed him down, he had become somewhat adept at avoiding the rock and twisting roots that could easily catch a foot, breaking an ankle and bringing the runner down.

His quarry seemed no worse the wear, gaining ground twice as fast as Lew managed. Laughing, still. Lew had no idea how he managed that. He was taking as deep of breaths as he could, and still his sides began to burn.

Logically, he knew he must be headed straight for a trap. But something about this bothered him. Not his itch, that wasn’t it. Something about this whole situation just felt...harmless, in a way. More a game than combat. And that made him curious. While he didn’t have his sister’s insatiable thirst for knowledge and talent for learning, most Shields still possessed a strong sense of the curious. So, despite his mind screaming at him to stop, he pressed on, grinning through his exhaustion.

They must have been running for twenty minutes before he caught his first sign of his target. He was little more than a blue between trees, caught only every minute or so. If Lew didn’t know any better--and he damn well did--he’d have said the runner was holding back, making sure Lew followed him.

By Elondrie, If he wants to be followed, then I’ll follow, he thought, throwing a bit of caution to the wind and picking up the pace.

Later, he’d realized his first mistake had been not paying attention to where he was being led to from the start. But at the time, he felt his only mistake was speeding up.

Whatever the reason, when his foot landed in his own snare, he heard a loud pop, then his vision swam in color as the thick vine pulled him up and tumbling over, leaving him staring in confusion at his rifle on the ground. He was vaguely aware that it had discharged, but he couldn’t tell if he’d shot himself or not.

Swinging lightly back and forth, he growled out a string of obscenities. His own damned trap. How could he be so green? But that led to another thought.

Had it been on purpose?

He heard another low laugh, followed by a woman speaking in an unusual, heavily accented dialect. “Indeed it is a strange thing I saw--a panther bested by his own maw.”

He turned as best he could to see the source of the strange voice. Ahead, Lew saw a figure emerge from the treeline. It was a woman with ebony skin and symmetrical, white-lined scars flowing down her arms, legs and face. She brushed her snow-colored bangs behind her ears and furrowed her brows as she stepped forward, clutching the hilt of a knife she had at her side in a makeshift sheath. “Speak loudly, child, don’t be coy. What are you doing here, boy?”